


Your Life Is Not A Story

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Wilbur Soot-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 14:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: After a lot of convincing on Ghostbur's part, Wilbur stepped towards the light and accepted life once again.Maybe he could find happiness this time around.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Philza
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Your Life Is Not A Story

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! 
> 
> So I started writing this before c!Tommy was resurrected which is why it's the old style of resurrection!   
> Also I wanna point out that I intended to write more of this but decided not to since I've moved on from wanting to write this fic, but since the first chapter had a good end, I thought I would post it anyway :)

Ghostbur smiled, holding the totem tight in his clasp as the sword came hurtling towards him, right through his heart. A scream burst from him, the scar that hurt _so much_ pulsed with pain, and he fell back, slipping off the sword as he went.

Phil choked, covering his mouth quickly as Ghostbur closed his eyes, body and mind drifting as white particles burst up. Green and yellow specks quickly followed, rising all around him.

And then…

He was in the void. The one he had seen before. Two figures right in front of him.

“Oh no, not this time, sunny boy,” a hoarse voice said, like they had been smoking all day and night. The figure scrambled up from where they had been sitting, turning on their heel. They simply… walked away…

Meanwhile, the other figure stepped forward, light shining on his face from nowhere. Ghostbur knew who this man was now, had only realised after mulling it over. Last time, he had stuck to the shadows, had pushed the other figure towards Ghostbur instead, but now…

Now he had accepted his fate.

“So, they finally decided to kill Casper the Friendly Ghost again, huh,” Alivebur said, sounding… bitter, but not? He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t expect it to take this long.”

Ghostbur shrugged. “I disappeared, according to them.”

Alivebur hummed.

“You have to go back to them.”

“Why? Because you think you’re not enough?”

Ghostbur shifted on the spot. Alivebur was a smart man, he knew that from the books, so it was no wonder he had come to a swift conclusion. “I’m not a strong man. _You’re_ the strong man.”

Alivebur huffed a laugh, nodding to himself as he glanced away. His eyes snapped to Ghostbur a second later. “I’m not strong, no stronger than you are, I imagine.”

Ghostbur bowed his head, rubbing at his arm. “But you’d _remember_.”

“Ah, _I_ can change with the times, but you’re stuck in moments, fleeting memories keeping you afloat.”

“ _Exactly_.”

“Then, I’m sorry, Ghostbur. You deserved your chance as much as I deserved to live in the first place.”

“Phil slayed you because you were the dragon…” Ghostbur murmured, thinking aloud. He looked to Alivebur now. “But I remember your death. You… you…”

Alivebur smiled sadly. “You don’t have to say it. I know. I know what I did.”

“Were… you a dragon?”

Alivebur tilted his head slightly, shrugging. “I wouldn’t say so, that’s just your interpretation of events I assume you can barely remember.”

“I remember, mostly. I just… _I read the history books_.”

“Then you know I was not as bad as I made _myself_ out to be.”

Ghostbur bit at his bottom lip, nodding slightly. “They don’t seem to hate you as much as I remember you thinking they did…”

Alivebur hummed, shrugging nonchalantly. As if he had come to terms with it. “I suppose my death was my bad mental health talking, more than anything else.”

“You should have lived.”

“At least you got to live a _free_ life. From what I know you’re _happy_ , why do this?”

Ghostbur shook his head, looking at Alivebur like he was naïve, and maybe he was. At least, about this. “I’m not happy. I’m suffering. Every day, all I can do is be the comic relief in everyone’s stories. I _try_ , I _tried_ , to make them happy, so they wouldn’t have to feel sad all the time like I do…! But it didn’t work, I failed!”

Alivebur’s eyes filled with a type of sympathy Ghostbur had never seen from anyone else. “Oh… Happiness was your motivator…”

“Yes.”

“Keeping all of them up there happy? That’s an impossible task for anyone…” Alivebur sighed, glancing down. “And when you failed… when you felt as if you had suffered enough… you turned to bringing _me_ back?”

“Yes. It’s taken a long time since I first asked, but we’re here now. All you have to do is walk towards them, you just have to _go to them_.”

Alivebur’s eyes shifted, off Ghostbur, to just over his shoulder. Obviously noting what was behind him. Light. Maybe he had noticed it before, maybe he hadn’t, but it was clear he knew what it meant now.

“Do they really want me?” Alivebur asked, eyes downcast.

“They do. They love you, and they thought I was enough, but I know I’m not.”

“You’re more to them than I was.”

“Not true, you know that. I’m a shadow, their pain, a handful of your happy memories. You’re all that I am and more.”

“At least you had all those happy memories to draw from.” Alivebur gestured to himself. “I can never be happy, not with all the shit that has happened.”

Ghostbur stepped towards him, shaking his head. “You can be. You can take all the bad and be better. I _can’t_ , that’s the point. I don’t know what you did, only what I did…” He cupped his hands behind his back, lifting his chin. “But you can fix it, you can be what they need, what the world needs. Your strength inspired everything that happened.”

Alivebur thinned his lips, narrowing his eyes. “That inspiration tore everything apart.” He stepped closer. “But you… I see now.”

“See, what?”

He gestured towards Ghostbur with a faint smile upon his lips. “Deep down, you haven’t forgotten how to be a leader. Look at you, hands cupped behind your back, chin lifted, shoulders squared, like you’re ready for every possibility. We learnt that in the war.” He smiled more so now. “And if you’re doing this because the world needs strength… then you’re thinking as a leader, not an individual.”

Ghostbur raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t… noticed. Still… “It doesn’t matter. None of it does if you stay dead!” He flung his arm out behind him, showing the light to Alivebur. “Go. Now. Before they think they’ve lost both of us forever.”

Alivebur shifted, taking one step back. “But… will I remember being dead? Will I remember the void? Or will I forget this, like how you forgot your full self?”

Ghostbur frowned, dropping his arm to his side. “I… I don’t know.”

“But… if I forget…” His eyes widened, and he shook his head, little by little. “No, Ghostbur, _you don’t understand_ , I’ll beg them to kill me if… if I don’t remember.” He turned slightly, pushing his hand into his hair. “God, no, wait, if I don’t… I’ll…”

Ghostbur blew out a breath. “You have to take that chance. You have to.”

Alivebur pinched the bridge of his nose, and his breathing calmed as he took a deep breath in, releasing it slowly. He turned, hands back at his sides, chin lifted. The… the leader had taken over, right? Because that was what Alivebur had pointed out in _him_ , so the same applied. He was repressing what was going on inside his own mind. To save himself from his own suffering.

Had he doomed his counterpart?

Alivebur gestured vaguely, almost frantically towards the light. “So I just… walk towards it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, Ghostbur, it’s been fun.” He approached him quickly, holding out his hand when he got near.

Ghostbur – tentatively – reached out and shook hands with Alivebur. “Good luck,” he said with a cheeriness in his voice, like how he’d act around others.

Alivebur curtly nodded. “You too. If you stick around in the void, that is.” His lips twitched upwards. “Schlatt isn’t that fun to be around sometimes.” He’d said it like a secret, in a small whisper like it mattered to keep it just between them.

Ghostbur pulled away, backing up towards the dark void. “Tell them you love them when you have the chance.”

Alivebur huffed a small laugh. “How do you know I love them?”

Ghostbur tapped his temple. “Happy memories.”

With a glint in his eyes, Alivebur casually saluted Ghostbur, turning towards the light. A pause. A beat. Alivebur walked forward and…

And…

The light was gone. The ritual complete.

\--

As the green and yellow particles sunk into Wilbur’s skin – all across his body – he was lit up in a lime glow. Phil watched keenly, his sword now firm in his clasp as he waited, it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The longer the particles lingered on his body, the tighter his grip got. Till it almost hurt to hold the sword, until _it did_ hurt.

He narrowed his eyes as the tips of Wilbur’s fingers morphed from that worrying grey, to white once again. He blew out a breath as his skin colour returned, and as it spread up his body, the particles faded away.

Phil sheathed his sword, stepping forward. He crouched by Wilbur as the last of the particles died down, and the red returned to his lips. He looked so calm, like he was simply asleep. His… his poor boy. His poor silly boy. How were they here, now, after everything?

It was a question he had asked every day since he’d killed him.

Wilbur’s eyes flashed open, and he gasped loudly like his lungs were searching for oxygen, back arching off the ground. Phil moved towards him, he had not expected the sudden awakening, but he was fully prepared for whatever would face him, he had to be… as a parent, a _father_ , as Wilbur’s dad.

Slowly, Wilbur blinked, up at the sky. And then… it seemed to all come to him at once. His head snapped to Phil, and he shook it again and again, and he pushed his hand into the ground, trying to shuffle away, his eyes wide, his lips parting.

“Phil… why am I…?” He looked to him with eyes so frantic, that he barely caught the way they were filling with tears. “No, no, no… no, no, no, no, no, I asked you to! I asked you to kill me! Why am I not dead?! I remember the sword! I remember the way it plunged into me!”

Wilbur dove for them hem of his jumper, pulling it up. (Clearly not realising his clothes were different.) He patted his heart and stomach, expecting to find wounds, but even to Phil’s surprise, nothing was there at all. Phil tried to reach out, to still him, but Wilbur frantically shook his head, tears spilling from his eyes.

“No, Phil… no… kill me… kill me… please. I deserve it… Everyone… I blew up their hard work, Phil, _please_. You value work! You do, kill me. Kill me, Killza, kill me, murder me, _murder me, murder me please._ ”

A choked sob echoed from behind them, but Wilbur didn’t even notice, lying on the ground, murmuring and half shouting and pleading for Phil to kill him. It… broke his heart all over again. His boy, his young naïve boy just… begging for something their family history would hate him for. They were supposed to _live_ , not cut their lives short before they even reached a hundred.

“Will… Wilbur,” Phil said quietly, moving closer, sitting on the ground next to him. Carefully, he reached out, pushing Wilbur’s fringe out of his eyes. “Please… stop this.”

Wilbur looked to him, eyes so clear and lucid, yet so filled with sadness that it reminded him of Ghostbur on Doomsday. “ _Kill me_ ,” he gritted out. “I’m evil, I’m bad, I’m a villain! Please… Dad! All I could ever ask for is to _die_.”

“I already did as you asked… That was _months_ ago.” Wilbur stilled, eyes widening. For a moment, it was like he was frozen in time. So, gently, Phil curled his arm around Wilbur’s back, tugging him up on to his lap. He went freely, likely in too much shock from the confession to say anything more, to do anything but be handled with care.

“You did…?” Wilbur asked slowly, eyes now closed as Phil stoked his hair.

“I did.”

“Then… why?”

“Your ghost asked. And the grief was too much. _You’re my only child_.”

Wilbur huffed a breath. “The only child who got the gene, you mean…”

Phil shook his head, shushing Wilbur gently. “You deserve to live a full life, in whatever form that comes in. Not to die, not like this, not at my own hand, _so you’re back_.”

Wilbur’s face slowly scrunched up, in pain, it could only be pain. His lips curled in a grimace, a choked sob erupting from his throat. “I don’t want to be…! I want to be dead! Phil… Dad… I’m old enough, I’ve lived long enough.”

“No… no you haven’t, son. You haven’t lived at all, and that’s my fault.”

Wilbur shook his head, and he looked up at Phil, eyes shining. “I have lived… _so much_. I made a nation, and I destroyed it, Phil. I did it all. I made a story, just like in all the books. It was a _great_ story, but it ends in my death. Don’t you see? The story has to end that way to complete the tragedy!”

Phil cupped Wilbur’s face, eyes so… tired. Tired and… disappointed really. His son’s head had been filled with fantasies of a story, rather than the survival techniques he had so harshly drilled into him. All he had taught him, all Techno’s rigorous sparring had taught him, had gone to waste for the simple story of a nation… Why that and not life itself?

“Wilbur… your life is your _life_ , not a story,” he said, hoping, wishing it would get through at long last.

Wilbur frowned. “Maybe I didn’t want to live, Dad, ever…” He pulled away from Phil’s grasp, sitting up. Only then did his eyes drift, to notice all that was around him. And naturally, his eyes were pulled to their vast audience. Phil was not surprised when he noticed Wilbur’s gaze had settled upon Fundy. “Oh.”

“Will…” Phil said carefully, trying to reach out, but Wilbur shuffled fully out of his grasp now.

“Fundy shouldn’t have seen this, Phil… Why would you allow my son to see my resurrection?”

“Because he asked.”

Wilbur looked to him with such scorn. “He just saw me beg for my own death,” he hissed. “You should have accounted for that.”

Fundy stepped down from the piece of rubble he had been standing upon. “Dad… I wanted to be here.”

Wilbur hung his head, exhaling deeply. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Is this why you asked to die in the broken button room? So no one would know?”

Phil thinned his lips, watching Wilbur carefully. He picked at his trousers before looking back to Fundy, and his eyes were still filled and gleaming with tears. Like he was lost, like he didn’t know what he was doing anymore… Like this was the worst thing that had happened to him. Maybe the audience hadn’t been for the best.

“Yes,” Wilbur simply answered.

Fundy nodded, more to himself than anything. “Right…”

“Fundy, do know that my death was my own, I never… I never wanted to hurt you by… dying.”

Fundy shrugged, like he didn’t care, but Phil knew he did. “But you did hurt me, because you left me.”

“Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“Of course it fucking wasn’t, Will! It never was…!”

Wilbur opened his mouth slowly, but all that came out was a deep sigh. His eyes were red raw, his cheeks stained by tears, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. He wasn’t ready for all this, that was obvious. “But… But I thought–”

Fundy turned away. “I never really hated you.” And… he walked… straight out of the clearing, leaving the rest of them to stare as he headed out, across the river.

Wilbur flopped down his back, but not in a gentle and relaxed way, in a way that would _hurt_. Badly. “Phil… please?”

“No.”

“Worth a shot…” He closed his eyes. “I just want rest.”

“You’ll get rest, soon. But not here.” Phil picked himself up off the ground, staring at the onlookers. “Please just… leave? I need to get him home.”

“But Phil–” Tommy tried to cut in.

“Just, not now. He’s too fragile.”

Wilbur huffed a laugh from below. “I could be more fragile.”

Phil rolled his eyes, glancing to him. “Shut up.” He turned his attention back to everyone else. “Ranboo, help me. Tommy, leave, you’ll only make this worse…”

“As if you didn’t do that already, and Fundy!”

“Tommy–”

“Fine!” Tommy exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “But I’ll visit soon, you can count on that.”

“I’ll be expecting you.” As Tommy turned and parkoured out of the clearly, Phil looked to Sam. “I can trust that Dream will be escorted back safely?”

Sam tightened his grip on Dream, as if he wanted to show how prepared he was for any eventuality. “Of course. This one won’t be going anywhere.” He turned to Bad and Antfrost, tilting his head to the entrance. Clearly understanding his signal, the two headed towards the archway, swords held firmly in their hands, as Sam escorted Dream out.

Finally, Phil turned to Eret. “What will he think of you?”

Eret hummed, folding his arms. “He’ll probably want to kill me the first opportunity he gets, I imagine. His apparent lack of Ghostbur memories does not ensure my safety. I’ll take my leave, but could I visit, when he’s ready for that? I would like to make amends.”

“Sure, Eret. Your help has been… invaluable. I appreciate it.”

Eret gave a curt nod. “Anything I can do to help. _Anything_.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, you will.” With a half-smile, Eret headed off too.

Which left him, Ranboo, and Wilbur all at the shrine. Part of Phil was glad Wilbur had noticed the audience first over the crater, his memories of his death seemed as clear as day. And he was no fool… he would know that was not his handiwork.

After all, eleven and a half stacks of TNT and two withers couldn’t do _that_.

Ranboo was by Wilbur’s side, head tilted, lips pursed. “He’s asleep. We’ll have to carry him back.”

Phil swooped down and picked Wilbur up with ease, like he was nothing more than the child that was still so clear in his memory. Though, by their terms, Wilbur wasn’t old at all, barely out of his childhood really. This whole nation thing… it had been more like a teenage rebellion than an adult’s ambition.

“Let’s go,” he said, tucking Wilbur closer to his chest.

Ranboo picked himself up, and Phil was glad he wasn’t at all surprised by the show of strength. He had exposed the kid to his abilities well enough, it seemed.

\--

Wilbur jolted up in bed– No, that was all wrong where was… where was the void? Where… where was Schlatt and the smell of alcohol and smoke? He blinked, taking in his surroundings. Wood, and… This was an attic, with a balcony at the other side. Beside him were ladders down… and the bed was red.

Classic.

Where the–

_‘Tell them you love them when you have the chance.’_

_Oh._

Right. Yeah… It was coming back to him, slowly but surely. He had been in the void, another normal day of Schlatt talking his ear off about the intricacies of business, when Ghostbur had appeared in front of them.

Schlatt had gotten out of there straight away, and Wilbur had known then that escaping his fate was impossible. Ghostbur had convinced him to go really, without him, he wouldn’t have taken a single step towards the light. And now, he was in a bed?

Why was he here, and not at spawn? Or surrounded by people involved in his resurrection?

Had he come back to life unconscious or–

Oh. Oh no. Oh _no_ , oh fuck.

Shit.

_‘Your ghost asked. And the grief was too much. You’re my only child.’_

He pushed his head into his hands, sighing deeply. Oh god, he had woken up, all delirious, without his memories of death… He knew it would happen, he was too unlucky for it to have gone any other way, but…

Fundy had seen all that.

Tommy had. And that was the last he remembered before… drifting off? He knew others had been there, he just hadn’t really looked beyond Fundy. Or listened beyond Phil shutting down Tommy. How long had it been since then? He recalled it being light, but then… his memory was still coming back to him.

He raised his head, looking towards the balcony. It was light outside, likely the morning from the shadows he could see. Which… He must have slept a good handful of hours. And since he was in a bed… Phil must have forced his spawn to be set here.

So… this had to be Phil’s house, right?

He glanced around, humming to himself. It had a homely, cosy feel to it. Definitely Phil’s work, it had to be said. And he had caught a glimpse of snow on the trees in the distance, which meant…

Oh, was his father really going through a cold phase again? He thought he’d left that behind with the empire. Ah… so much for settling in a temperate biome.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed, pushing himself up and onto his feet. He expected to feel weak and heavy, but instead… instead everything felt normal? As normal as it had been in the void, as normal as it had been when he was last alive.

Huh… Interesting. Perhaps the rest had done him good. He climbed down the ladders, taking in the vines that covered the walls. Phil… he was always a dramatic ancient, committing all sorts of war crimes while building up beautiful places to live. Here, with his table, and wither rose on display, a rustic fireplace, and chests (that were either orderly or chaotic as fuck inside).

“Phil?” he called out, glancing towards the other balcony. Nope, he wasn’t there either.

With no clear signs of life inside the house, Wilbur headed outside. There was a bridge, connecting this house with another. To his right was a structure filled with dogs and another house jutting out from a small mountain.

The sound of rushing water drew Wilbur to the side of the bridge, and when he looked down, there was Phil, sitting in front of a... small pond?

“Phil?” he said, watching as his father startled to his feet.

“Wilbur! You’re up!” He rushed for the stairs, approaching with a pace unseen. “Are you okay? Are you not weak from yesterday?”

Wilbur caught Phil’s hands as they reached out to touch him, he didn’t need that comfort right now. With a smile, he held Phil’s hands gently in his own. “Dad, I’m fine. Strong even. I expected to be weak too, but I’m not. I blame the rest.” He dropped Phil’s hands. “You’ll be glad to know I remember death, being in the void.”

Phil let out a long deep exhale. “That’s good news. I worried for what your mental state would be when you woke up.”

“I’m... about as fine as I was when I died.”

A sharp glint overwhelmed Phil’s eyes. “Hopefully you’re better than that, I’m not having a repeat.”

Wilbur raised his eyebrows and chuckled softly. “Oh, I’m not suicidal. I didn’t mean that. I mean... I’m... okay. I’ll manage.”

Phil reached out – and Wilbur let him – curling his hand around Wilbur’s forearm. “I’ll make sure you can thrive again, okay? You’ll do much more than just manage.”

“Maybe. Is that possible for me though? I’ve been through so much _shit_.”

“Of course it is. You just need to learn that places and people aren’t forever.”

Wilbur frowned. Never once had he believed that inane lesson. But then, he did destroy his own country so, maybe he was right. Even if it was shit and wrong. “I... guess you’re right but I hate that. I hate it so much.”

Phil thinned his lips, glancing away. “I did something, and I’ll show you soon, but not yet. You’re not ready.”

Wilbur hummed walking backwards towards the door. “Well, do you have food because I’m _starving_.”

Phil grinned. “Do you like golden carrots?”

“ _Yes_. I’ll take anything over potatoes.”

They headed inside and Phil cracked up laughing. Wilbur smiled at him as he hopped up onto a spare space on the table, swinging his legs.

“I hear it’s all people used to eat in Pogtopia and L’Manberg.”

Wilbur hummed. “A good source of food, but boring as fuck.”

Phil threw over some carrots, sitting on the chest behind him. “Well, Techno and I have plenty of villagers to trade with here, so no more potatoes.”

“Is that who lives in the other house? Techno?”

“Yeah.”

Wilbur smiled, biting into his carrot. “Good, I’m glad you two are back living together.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“You’ve always kept each other company. Warrior friends, brothers forged in the blood of an empire, staining your boots and the snow with your victories. Of course I’m glad.”

“You’re being...”

“What?”

“Strangely nice...”

Wilbur stilled, glancing down at his carrot. He picked at it, shrugging. “Death mellowed me in a way I can’t explain.”

Phil hummed. “Will you be more peaceful this time around?”

“I... maybe. But you know peace is hard for me. It’s a choice rather than an instinct. You and Techno taught me too well.”

Phil chuckled. “Yet you’re still shit at PvP.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “I never said I was _good_.”

“I...” Phil paused, like he was collecting himself. “I don’t blame you for what you did now. At the time, I was shocked at how you had changed, but I... I know it’s who you are, who I made you to be.”

Wilbur took another bite of his carrot, mulling that over. “To let go of any connections because countries rise and fall like the tides, but conflict lasts forever.”

“Yes.”

“I tried to go against that, tried to stop the conflict, tried to be peaceful, to not be a threat... but none of it mattered.”

“It never does.” Phil looked slightly dejected. How many stories did his dad have wrapped up in him? “I know from experience.”

“I know you do.” Because Phil had been there for so many rises, and even more falls. Regardless of nations, people always found something to fight over. Pets, belongings, people themselves… “And now _I know_. I don’t regret it though.”

Phil pocketed his food. “Don’t regret what exactly?”

Wilbur bit at his lip, sighing as he leant back against the wall, the vines cushioning him. “Making L’Manberg. I never intended a nation, I only wanted to make stupid potions and call them drugs for fun. But we were stopped, we were killed, arrested.” His eyes slipped closed and he thumbed the carrot, in an attempt to steady his mind while remembering. “I knew from the books, history, what I had seen myself… that it was nothing short of tyranny in the making. So I… I tried to make that patch of land, _just a tiny patch of land_ , my own, for freedom. Four of us, all founders, trying our _best_. And it all fell apart the second Eret betrayed.”

“I noticed, shortly before I stabbed you, that you had a lack of trust. Is Eret why?”

A grim chuckle escaped his throat before he could stop it. “Yeah, that’s why. Partly, anyway. L’Manberg lost what I tried to make it in the war, when we got independence things just got worse… and worse… until the elections went wrong, and I was exiled. So I _made_ it fall, because it was no longer what it was meant to be.” He opened his eyes, glancing to Phil. “I watched the country I made blow up, it was _catharsis_ , after all that had happened. I don’t regret making it, and I don’t regret ending it, and I especially don’t regret my death.”

Phil pushed himself off the chest, his broken and tattered wings drooped. Well, at least he still had control over them, even if the damage rendered him unable to fly. His fault, technically, but then he never did ask for Phil to protect him from the explosion.

“You didn’t deserve to die…” Phil said quietly, turning to the window behind him. “I thought I did the right thing for you, at first but… But hearing you talk about your death like that, and what you said yesterday… I was wrong.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You deserved a second chance. No one should die by their own command.”

Wilbur, instead of replying, shoved an entire carrot in his mouth, chewing idly as he looked towards the balcony, beyond it, at the snow and the trees. It allowed him time to think as Phil busied himself with arranging the vines into a neater position.

“I’m…” he said slowly, forming the words in his mind first, before he said anything he didn’t exactly mean. “I want to live.”

Phil whirled around, spry, reactions fast, barely showing how old he really was, unageing in his movements. “You do, truly?”

“Yeah.” He thinned his lips. “But I do have one question.”

Phil quirked an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“If you could bring me back, you could bring anyone back, yeah?”

“I suppose so, we know the method now, but it easier because of Ghostbur.”

Wilbur nodded, to himself. “Right, so… if you could bring anyone back… then _why me_?”

Phil narrowed his eyes, his lips curling in what could only be confusion. “What do you mean, Will?”

“I've heard you talk about your other children.” Wilbur curled his hands into fists. “I’m the shit one!"

A breath escaped Phil, so full of… _emotion_. So sincere, so disappointed, so… so much. It almost hurt to hear, years of pain, _centuries_ , in one exhale. Wilbur almost regretted asking. Nevertheless, he craved the answer. “I loved the others, yes, but _you’re my son_ …! You matter, Will. Maybe more than the rest.”

“Why?” he asked, bitterness clouding his tone. “Because I have your shitty gene?”

“No. Because their deaths were _centuries_ ago, in my first bout of life… I consider you my _only_ child now. Besides, you’re the only one who was _proud_ to be my child.”

Wilbur stilled, paused, then rolled his eyes. The confession was sweet, but it was also– “So you were being selfish, bringing me back for what…? So someone can be prideful of you? You have Techno.”

Phil’s wings flared behind him, despite being battered and broken. Ah… he had crossed a line, oh no… “Of course I’m being selfish! You’re my child! You cared, you cared about being my son, about making me proud! Don’t you see how that makes me want to keep you around, _alive_?!”

 _Oh_.

 _Ohh_.

“Oh… You love me…”

Phil’s shoulders slumped and his wings folded back up. “How was that ever in doubt?”

Wilbur shrugged, tilting his head to the ceiling. “I don’t know, because it never felt like you did?”

“I do. I always have, I always will.”

“Okay… good, that’s…”

“Wilbur,” Phil said gently.

Wilbur looked to him, leaning forward. And there was his dad, hands fidgeting at his sides, wings folded up, clothes all neat with a sparkling sword at his side, his dad looking sad. “What?”

“Can we hug? It’s been a long, long time.”

It had. Years upon years. When Wilbur was a child, that was the last time. Though, the definition of child didn’t mean the same thing to their long living family. Childhood really only ended when one reached twenty-five. And Wilbur was around about thirty-two.

He hopped off the table, spreading his arms wide. “Sure, Dad.”

Slowly, they shuffled into a hug, Wilbur spread his hands on Phil’s back, as Phil balled up Wilbur’s jumper, clutching him firmly. It was… strange to be held in his father’s arms again, especially in the context of pain between them, and not the happiness of their last hug…

Times had changed. _They_ had changed. Wilbur himself was no longer an innocent kid with a bright future, but instead an adult with a dark past.

“I _love_ you, you silly, silly boy,” Phil whispered, stern, certain.

Wilbur buried his face into Phil’s shoulder. “I love you too… I’m sorry for making you kill me.”

Phil sniffled, his grip tightened. “And I’m sorry for killing you.”

“Never be sorry for that. My fault.”

“We were both at fault, son. Don’t fret.” Phil pulled away, grasping Wilbur’s upper arms. His eyes shined with unbidden tears. “Do you know Techno is home? Would you like to see him?”

Wilbur parted his lips, a small smile springing to them. “I… How did you know?”

“Because I raised you and you idolised him more than anything.”

Wilbur moved out of Phil’s grasp, heading towards the door. “ _Well_ , I did train with him every day for ten years. He was an inspiration.”

Phil snorted. “Sure, but you fought more over books sometimes than you sparred with swords.”

Wilbur grinned, shrugging with a lightness he hadn’t had for some time. “He liked war too much, I was always more interested in history and preserving it.”

Phil came up beside him, pushing towards the door, opening it. “How are you my son? It’s a question I often ask.”

With a laugh, he headed outside, taking in a large breath of the cold, crisp air. “Says the man with centuries worth of history to document. I will get all of the stories out of you one day.”

“Sure, mate. I’d like to see the day.”

“We have time.”

Phil stilled as he closed the door. “Yeah… we do.”

Wilbur smiled, and with a curt nod, he headed over to the other house. “Should I knock?”

“Go ahead.”

The door rattled as his knocked firmly, in a certain pattern just to ensure Techno knew who it was. When he was little, and while they were sparring, he would tap on the ground a certain number of times to escape a painful hold. It became a secret between them after a while, because of how unique Wilbur’s tapping at been.

Now, it was a message, a clue to who was there.

They had used it in Pogtopia once or twice, funnily enough.

The door was yanked open, and there was Techno, a smile on his lips. His hair was still thick and long, a good sign that he still hadn’t been bested yet. Not in recent memory anyway. “Wilbur! You’re up!”

Wilbur smiled gently. “I am, and I remember being dead too, so I’m not delirious anymore.”

Techno blew out a breath. “That is good news, Wilbur.” He stepped to the side. “Come in, come in, I was just about to make some potions, maybe you could help?”

“Potions?” he asked as he walked in, eyeing the interior. A very different style to Phil’s house. Much more art, a lot more chaos in the positioning of things. Very Techno indeed. “Are you readying for a battle?”

“No, I just have more sugar than I need, so I’m brewing up some speed potions.”

Wilbur smiled, heading over to a brewing stand. He narrowed his eyes at it, awkward potions were in place, bubbling gently, but no sugar had been infused into the stand yet. “For what?”

“Fun? I was thinking of keeping them on me if using my trident isn’t practical.”

Wilbur hummed, ducking into the chest beside the stands. He pulled out some sugar, and some glowstone. “You’ll want Speed II then.”

Techno laughed gently, coming up beside Wilbur. “You know too much about potions.”

“So do you, but at least I know what’s best for what you want. You’d just whack redstone in for a longer time, but that’s not _why_ you want the speed.” He turned to Techno, smiling. “Splash or drink? Will it be in a time of need, or do you want time to think about it before using one?”

Techno folded his arms, staring out the window. “Uh, drink. I wanna make sure I get the full affect.”

“Perfect.”

Wilbur got to work, happily infusing sugar into each of the brewing stands. He loved the way it trickled down, using the energy of the blaze powder to cause a vast reaction with the awkward potions. The magic of it was fascinating, but not very well researched in more modern times. As far as he was aware, books like that were tucked away in ancient structures few knew about.

Once all the speed was cooked up, Techno helped him infuse the glowstone. They worked well together, as they always had over the years. When Wilbur was a kid… In Pogtopia for a short time… Now, he supposed.

Part of him wished he had opened his heart to Techno more, in Pogtopia. Maybe, if he had let him in, things would have been different. But… probably not. He was too much of a showman, telling a story, to have let go of the idea he’d come up with.

Techno picked up one of the finished potions. “This is great, thank you for the help, Wilbur.”

Wilbur grinned, leaning back against the wall. “No problem, Techno. Maybe I could help you more in future?”

“You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you.”

Techno smiled slightly. “No problem. Maybe, in time, when you’re ready,” His eyes shifted to Phil, “I can tell you about something.”

Phil mouthed something in question that Wilbur didn’t quite catch, and Techno nodded in reply.

“That sounds like a good idea, Techno, but only when he’s ready,” Phil said, calmly, like they were talking about nothing suspicious.

Wilbur pushed off the wall. “Sounds intriguing. I’m sure I’ll be ready soon enough.”

Techno eyes flashed. “Good.”

Wilbur smiled and… suddenly? Everything felt like it was falling into place, bit by bit. Maybe he was meant to be alive, maybe… maybe dying had been worth to get a sense of perspective because _now_ … Now he was ready to live.


End file.
